


Folk as Need Saving

by Lena86



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena86/pseuds/Lena86
Summary: "We shoot fellers as need shooting... save fellers as need saving... and feed 'em as need feeding."Clementine Warren hasn't followed the most straight and narrow path, so she's not surprised to find herself slung across the back of a bounty hunter's horse and headed into Valentine.What is surprising is when a stranger intervenes.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Horseshoe Overlook

A wagon would have been preferable. Pants too, come to think of it. But the job had called for her to fit in and her worn ranch pants wouldn't have done the trick so here she was. Caught again and trussed up like a hog, slung across the back of some bounty hunter’s horse in her only skirt and halfway to the mud and shit of Valentine. And this time she didn’t even have innocence on her side. She spared a thought for her mare, left behind where she’d been picked up heading back into camp. Styx would have been a more comfortable ride, Clem thought, wryly amused that the bounties _she'd_ picked up had been comfortable at least. 

Abruptly the horse stopped, shuffling Clem into the back of the bounty hunter and forcing the air out of her lungs. 

‘Move along, mister,’ the bounty hunter growled, injecting his voice with enough menace to pique Clem’s interest. She craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of the rider who’d caused the sudden halt but all she could see from her angle was the side of his horse, a dusty pants leg and a worn boot slotted into what looked like a fairly well-made stirrup. 

‘Looks like you boys caught yourselves a real criminal there,’ the newcomer called, his voice an amused drawl. 

‘Bounty's ours,’ the other bounty hunter said. ‘She's wanted in Valentine.’

The horse bearing Clem skittered slightly to the side, briefly granting her a better view of the stranger in the dim light afforded by her captor's lantern. He was leaning across his saddlehorn, his face masked by the brim of his hat. 

‘Wanted for what?’ he asked. ‘Only seen one female bounty poster in Valentine and I’m pretty sure that ain’t her.’ 

‘We don’t have to tell him shit, Lou,’ the other bounty hunter hissed, apparently as skittish as his friend’s horse.

‘Sheriff in Valentine wants a word,’ Clem’s captor said. 

‘A word? Don't sound like it pays too well. Why don't you boys run along, leave the lady be? Ain't proper to have her slung across your horse like that.’ 

Lou straightened in his saddle, affronted. ‘I ain’t about to take lessons in what's _proper_ from some shitheel cowboy. Move aside, friend.’ He shifted again and Clem heard his hand come to rest on his holster, his poorly maintained gun rattling.

At the edge of her field of vision, Clem saw the stranger’s leg shift, as though he’d straightened too. When he spoke his voice was low suddenly, somehow filled with more threat than either bounty hunter had managed throughout the entirety of their short acquaintance. ‘We ain’t friends, mister, and you sure as shit don’t want me as an enemy, so why don't you take my advice an’ get your hand offa that gun unless you plan on using it. Let the woman go.’ 

Suddenly it seemed everything was happening at once. Lou drew his gun and Clem flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as two shots were fired in quick succession. She heard the sound of a body hitting the dirt and hooves beating a hasty retreat. Lou shifted in his saddle, shoved his hands under her stomach and Clem was flying, hitting the dirt behind his horse with enough force to knock the wind out of her for the second time in as many minutes. 

‘Take her!’

Clem’s eyes snapped open as she felt hands grip her coat, turning her onto her back. The stranger loomed over her, his eyes on the retreating back of the bounty hunter as he rode away. The second bounty hunter lay on the ground a few feet away, the hole in the centre of his forehead a fairly good sign that Clem wasn’t out of the woods yet.

‘You alright, miss?’ 

Clem looked up, blowing her hair out of her eyes so she could glare up at the stranger. ‘Just dandy, mister,’ she snapped. ‘You wanna untie these ropes or are you fixin’ to take me in yourself?’

The stranger snorted his amusement before drawing a hunting knife from his belt and kneeling to cut the ropes at Clem’s ankles. As he worked, Clem eyed the dead bounty hunter. ‘You some kinda gunslinger or somethin’?’

‘Or somethin’,’ the man shrugged. ‘There someplace I can take you?’

‘You got nothin’ better to do?’ Clem asked, wriggling until she could sit up. 

The man glanced down the road. ‘Got business at Downes Ranch,’ he said. ‘Nothing that can't wait. You really scam that bastard Malloy?’ he asked, glancing up at her from under his battered hat before turning his attention to the next set of ropes. 

Clem regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, watching as surprisingly gentle hands cut the ropes binding her wrists. ‘He had it comin’,’ she said, rubbing at the red marks the rope had left. 

The man smirked, just a flash across his face before it was gone. ‘No doubt,’ he said, sitting back on his haunches. 

‘You know him?’ Clem asked. 

‘As well as anyone,’ he nodded, rising to his feet. ‘I’ve been known to do a bit of bounty work.’

Clem raised an eyebrow. ‘When you ain't callin’ on ranchers and rescuing damsels in distress.’

‘Forgive me miss,’ he said, stepping back and watching as she got to her feet. ‘But you don’t look like much of a damsel to me.’

Despite herself, Clem gave him a crooked grin and extended a hand for him to shake. ‘You ain't wrong, Mr..?’

‘Arthur,’ he said, taking her hand. 

Clem shook, looking him dead in the eyes like her daddy taught her. Everything you needed to know about a man, you could tell from his handshake, his horse and his eyes. The handshake was warm, firm, the palm and fingers calloused in a way that spoke of years of hard work, but the care was there, as though he was afraid he’d hurt her. The horse was... impressive, Clem decided; a silver fox trotter, fast, loyal and not easily spooked. Well looked after, like the man - _Arthur_ \- knew he needed to earn the loyalty of a horse like that. And the eyes… the eyes glittered at her from under his hat, blue and then green and then blue again, fairly dancing with amusement - at her expense, no doubt - but behind that, something else. Sadness, maybe. 

‘And you are?’ The amusement in his eyes suddenly plain in his voice. 

Clem snatched her hand back, abruptly aware she'd left it in his too long. 'Clementine Warren. You got a last name, Arthur?

‘Sure,’ he said easily, clearly in no hurry to share it. He turned and laid a hand on his horse’s nose, murmuring softly at her before raising his voice to ask, ‘Where'd they pick you up?’

Clem watched him run a hand down the horse’s neck. ‘I was camped down on the Dakota.’ 

‘Camped?’ he said, turning and eyeing her skirt. 

‘This ain’t exactly my… normal attire,’ Clem shrugged, feeling defensive.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘I'll take you back. Keep any more... opportunists at bay.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ she snapped.

He chuckled, dropping his hands to rest on his gunbelt. ‘I don't doubt it, Miss Warren. But you ain’t got a horse and you ain’t armed.’

And he was, she thought, eyeing over the arsenal strapped to the man’s saddle before dropping her gaze to the revolver and sawed-off shotgun in his belt. ‘What about your rancher friend?’ she asked, looking up again to find him watching her from under his hat.

He glanced away, an expression she couldn't read flitting across his face. ‘It'll keep,’ he drawled, pulling himself into his saddle and leaning down to offer her a hand up which Clem pointedly ignored, dragging herself up behind him despite the hindrance of her skirt. 

When she was finally situated, she hesitated a moment before settling her hands at his waist, looking up to see him looking at her over his shoulder. ‘We headin’ out, cowboy?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

They rode in silence a ways, Clem wincing as even the smooth gait of the stranger's horse jarred her bruised ribs. The stranger must have heard her or something, because with barely a tug on the reins he slowed the horse from a trot to a walk, turning his head slightly to look at Clem over his shoulder.

‘You alright miss?’

‘I'm fine,’ Clem snapped, annoyed she’d shown yet more weakness. 

Arthur shifted, reaching over and pulling something from the satchel at his side. ‘Here,’ he grunted, handing a bottle back over his shoulder.

Whiskey, Clem realised as she took it. Almost empty. Not to her taste but it’d see her right for now. She bit down on the cork, pulling it free and spitting it into the grass before taking a long swig of the liquor. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Arthur nodded, letting the horse walk a few more minutes before clicking his tongue and urging her back into a trot once he was sure the whiskey had taken effect. 

After a while Clem found herself uncharacteristically uncomfortable with the silence. ‘Why'd you stop?’ 

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem right.’ 

Unseen, Clem rolled her eyes. ‘They was bounty hunters, takin’ in a bounty. What ain’t right about that?’

‘You wasn’t movin’, miss. Someone's guilty, they’ll holler and kick up an almighty fuss when you pick 'em up.’

‘Even the women?’

He chuckled. ‘ _Especially_ the women.’

It was full dark when they made it back to her camp and Clem eyed the remains of her campfire as she slid to the ground, refusing Arthur’s hand again and trying not to notice his snort of amusement when she stumbled. 

Styx appeared between the trees, walking to Clem with what she interpreted as a sheepish expression. Clem smiled and reached up, running a hand down the mare's blaze. ‘It’s alright, girl. I’m okay.’

She looked up to find Arthur appraising her camp with a keen eye. ‘What?’

‘How’d they catch you?’

Clem raised her eyebrows, surprised. ‘What d’you mean?’

He rubbed his jaw absently. ‘I mean… seems to me you’ve been out here a while, don’t look like you have a real permanent home. And if you’re the scam artist they said you’d be used to bein’ on the run… so how’d you get yourself caught by those morons?’

‘I got sloppy,’ Clem said simply, moving away and attempting to resurrect her fire. Arthur murmured something she didn’t catch. ‘What?’

‘You always on your own like this?’ he asked. 

It wasn’t what he’d said but Clem let it drop. ‘These days.’ 

‘Ain't exactly safe out here.’ 

Clem glared at him. ‘I do well enough.’ He shot her a look and she conceded his unspoken point with a curt nod. ‘Usually. I ain’t stayin’ in New Hanover long anyways. Headin’ to Blackwater tomorrow,’ she said, wondering why she was telling him even as the words left her mouth and fast becoming even more surprised at herself when she added, ‘Maybe ill see you there sometime. Pay you back for helping me out.’

Arthur raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Weren’t no drama. But I doubt you’ll see me in Blackwater. Any time soon anyhow.’ He straightened in his saddle and tipped his hat to her. ‘You take care, Miss Warren.’ 

‘It's Clem,’ she said, wondering at herself again. 

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Miss Clementine. There’s bad men in these parts. Ain't safe for a woman alone.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Clem said, rising and turning away to feed Styx a beet she found in her saddlebag. As she raised her arms pain shot through her side and she gasped. 

At a sound behind her, she turned and saw Arthur had dismounted. He moved around her and held a hand up to Styx, palm flat and holding something her usually reserved horse swept up greedily. 

‘Why don’t you get some rest?’ he said, running his hand gently down her horse’s nose. ‘I’ll keep watch a spell.’

‘You ain’t gotta -’

‘You need sleep and I ain’t got nowhere to be until the morning.’

Clem straightened, ignoring the twinge in her side. ‘And why should I trust you? You could be just as bad as those bounty hunters.’ 

Arthur laughed at that, the sound somehow making Clem smile despite herself. ‘I’m almost definitely worse, Miss Clementine. Fact remains I ain't them though, and you look about ready to drop, whether you trust me or not.’

Clem stared at him a moment, before realising she was too tired to argue. Not tired enough to be stupid, though. Brushing past him, she pulled her revolver from her saddlebag, giving him a look that dared him to comment. When he said nothing she laid down on her bedroll, watching as Arthur settled beside the fire, one leg drawn up so he could rest his arm on it. As she felt sleep start to overwhelm her she murmured, 'I don't believe you, you know.'

‘’bout what?’ he asked, prodding at the fire with a stick and watching the embers drift skywards.

‘You can’t be all that bad. Savin’ me like that.’

He was silent awhile and by the time he spoke, Clem was almost asleep, the low drawl of his words following her unto a dream before drifting away. 'Man who raised me s’got a sayin’. Like almost everything he says it's got a lot of words. But I always liked the second part best: we save folk as need savin’…’’


	2. Clemens Point

The hunt had been fruitless, Clem seemed to have two left feet today, and both of them wanted to let every deer, rabbit and boar in Lemoyne know she was after them. As she turned to head back to where she'd left Styx she heard the thundering of hooves followed by a crash as a large silver horse entered the clearing, rearing up to avoid riding right into her. 

The man on the horse's back seemed huge as both horse and rider loomed above her, his face covered with a bandanna and a rifle in his hands. He gripped the horse with his legs, one hand freeing itself of the rifle to go to the horse’s neck, soothing it absently as his head whipped around. 

Clem raised her own rifle, but the man wasn’t looking at her, too busy staring wildly over his shoulder. ‘Don’t come any closer, mister,’ she said, hefting her rifle and cocking it.

The man's head spun so fast Clem was sure he’d injured himself. ‘The hell are you doing here?’ he growled.

‘Excuse me?’ He reached up, yanking his bandana down so she could see his face, recognition and surprise flooded her mind, even as she groped for his name. ‘Arthur?’

‘You need to get out of here, miss,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Go on, get.’

‘Looks like it’s you that needs -’ The air left Clem’s lungs, the feeling like nothing so much as taking a punch to the gut, followed by horrible warmth flowing down her side. She was halfway to the ground before she heard the bullet. As she fell she saw Arthur turn in his saddle, firing into the forest behind himself. 

When there was no return fire he scrambled down from the horse, moving to Clem’s side and pressing his hands to a spot that made her vision white-out for a second. ‘Ain’t too bad,’ he murmured.

‘Who shot me?’ Clem gasped.

‘Fellers who was trying to shoot me,’ Arthur said. ‘Can you stand?’

Clem tried to push herself up, only to cry out as her arms refused to cooperate.

Arthur looked around in panic at the noise but they seemed to be alone for the moment. ‘You’re comin’ with me,’ he said, leaning towards her and slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Clem tried to wave him away. ‘I don’t need savin’, Arthur,’ Clem said, gritting her teeth against the pain in her side. 

‘You kiddin’ me, woman?’ Arthur growled, kneeling and gathering Clem into his arms. He rose to his feet, lifting her as though she weighed next to nothing and pushing her into his saddle, swinging up behind her and spurring the horse on.

‘Where are you takin’ me?’ Clem asked, her voice coming out weaker than she’d have liked.

‘I’m gonna take you to my camp. Get you patched up and on your way. What the hell were you doing there anyway?’

‘Wrong place wrong time, I guess,’ Clem ground out. 

‘You ain't wrong. Keep pressure on that wound. Shit.’ This last was forced from him as a bullet whizzed past them. ‘How many?’ he asked.

Clem leaned out slightly, glancing behind them as he jumped the horse over a fallen tree. ‘Three, I think.’

‘Take the reins,’ Arthur ordered, reaching around her waist and dropping the reins into her hand. ‘Keep headin’ through the trees.’

Clem gripped the reins, her knuckles going white even as she swallowed down the nausea the gunshot was sending through her body in waves. ‘What are you doin’?’

She felt him shift behind her, turning away and pulling his revolver to fire over his shoulder. Once. Twice. Three times. She felt his hand engulf hers, gently taking the reins back. ‘It’s alright, Miss Clementine. They’re gone.’

Clem let out the breath she’d been holding in a rush. ‘That’s… that’s good. Reckon I’m gonna pass out now.’ As her vision faded she fell back against Arthur’s chest, feeling him tense for a moment before his arms tightened around her, holding her up as one hand drifted to her side, pressing against her wound. 

* 

‘Miss Clementine?’ the voice in Clem’s ear was accompanied by a squeeze on her upper arm that she tried to shrug off. She was distantly aware that it was important she stay asleep, something bad would happen if she allowed the voice to wake her. The hand over her arm squeezed again, more insistently this time. ‘You gotta wake up.’ 

Clem opened her eyes and pain flooded back in, followed closely by panic. On the back of a horse that wasn’t Styx, its coat dappled silver rather than deep black, trapped in a stranger’s arms with one of his hands pressed uncomfortably to her side, it took her far too long to piece the last few hours together. The way ahead was unfamiliar, the sunlight shining through the trees head obscuring the end of the path.

‘Arthur?’ she groaned. 

‘You expectin’ someone else?’ The man sounded amused, damn him. 

Clem tried to turn in the saddle and gasped as the pain in her side made her head swim. Arthur took her hand and pressed it into her side. 

‘Keep pressure on it,’ he warned. 

Up ahead, the trees opened out into a clearing filled with carts and tents. Arthur stopped his horse at a hitching post and slid from the saddle, calling loudly for someone called Grimshaw. Watching him, Clem wondered where the sun was going as she felt her head getting light. She tried to call out to Arthur but the words felt very far away. Abruptly, the world slid sideways. 

Her descent was halted when she hit something solid, slightly softer than the ground. Arthur’s eyes flashed at her from under his hat before he turned his attention to her wound again. 

‘Dammit woman,’ he growled, his hand going to her side again and making her gasp. ‘I told you to keep pressure on it.’ 

‘That ain’t no way to address a lady, Arthur,’ a voice scolded. 

Clem looked up to see an older woman marching towards them, looking like nothing so much as a steamship at full speed. When she looked back at Arthur she saw something akin to embarrassment flash across his face. 

‘But she -’

‘But nothin’. Let’s get this young lady to a bed and then you find me Reverend Swanson.’ 

Arthur signed. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He rose with Clem in his arms, moving further into the camp. He laid her gently on a cot under a lean-to before backing out of her field of vision. Suddenly panicked, Clem tried to stop him, gripping his sleeve even as he disappeared. 

‘None of that, miss. He’ll be back in just a minute. While he’s gone, let’s see what we’re dealing with.’ Clem felt cold air hit her stomach as her shirt was cut away. The woman’s mouth set into a thin line. ‘You’re lucky. Bullet went all the way through. Don’t look like it hit anything vital. Nice and clean.’

Clem hissed as the woman pressed a hand to her side. ‘Hurts like hell,’ she ground out.

The woman barked a laugh. ‘I’ve seen worse. Here.’ She dug through a trunk next to the cot and handed Clem a worn leather belt. ‘This isn’t gonna be gentle,’ she said, eyeing Clem appraisingly. ‘You need someone to hold you down?’

Clem shook her head, taking the belt and biting down on it. The woman threaded a needle and Clem turned away, keeping her eyes on the fabric of the lean-to above her as the woman poured alcohol over the wound and began stitching, tutting when Clem shifted in pain.

The minutes stretched on as Clem fought not to pass out again. Finally, the woman sat back, pushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. 

A young brunette hurried over, a wad of fabric in her hands. ‘Miss Grimshaw! Arthur said you needed - Oh!’ the last was exclaimed as she caught sight of Clem’s bloodied form.

‘Give me those,’ Miss Grimshaw snapped, snatching the fabric from the girl’s hands. ‘Stop gawping, girl.’ She began tearing the fabric into long strips and wadding it into pads, pouring alcohol over one of the pads.

As the girl hurried away, a tall, dark-haired man strolled over, cigar in hand. ‘Miss Grimshaw,’ he greeted, nodding. ‘And who is our guest?’ 

Miss Grimshaw twitched Clem’s blouse closed, covering her modesty. ‘Arthur never did make an introduction. Boy hasn't got the manners of a wildcat.’ She sent Clem a look, raising an eyebrow questioningly before turning her attention back to Clem’s wound.

‘Clementine Warren,’ Clem supplied. ‘Clem.’

‘And how do you know our boy Arthur, Miss Warren?’ the man asked. 

‘He-’ Clem began, gasping as Miss Grimshaw pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to her wound.

‘Met her a few weeks back,’ Arthur said, finally returning with a redheaded man who looked a little the worse for wear. ‘Out near Valentine.’

‘And how is it she came to be _here_?’ the man’s tone was polite, warm even, but Clem didn’t miss the harshness in his eyes.

Before Arthur could answer another voice sounded. ‘How did any of us come to be here, Dutch?’ This man was older, skinny but well dressed. ‘Waifs and strays, the lot of us. That right, Arthur?’

Arthur nodded. ‘She caught a bullet was meant for me. Figured I owed her.’ 

Dutch was silent a moment, his gaze holding Arthur’s. Then he nodded. ‘Of course, son.’ He stepped back, waving a hand expansively. ‘Reverend Swanson, why don’t you help this young lady out?’ 

As Dutch and the older man walked away the red-headed man - Swanson - stepped forwards, raising a syringe.

‘What’s that?’ Clem asked, eyeing it nervously.

‘Something for the pain, Miss,’ Swanson said. 

‘Shouldn’t you have been here before I was stitched up?’ Clem asked.

As the drug flooded her mind, Clem was dimly aware of Miss Grimshaw’s face reappearing in her field of vision. ‘Arthur, lift her up so I can bandage her.’

‘Shouldn't one of the girls -’

‘They're busy. It'll only take a second. Just keep your eyes to yourself.’ 

Clem was distantly aware of someone laughing, working out it was her own laughter even as her vision dimmed and the world became mercifully quiet.

*

When Clem awoke it was dark outside the lean-to, the only light coming from an oil lamp beside the cot turned almost all the way down. Arthur was sitting in a chair next to the cot, his head bent over a book resting on his drawn-up knee.

‘Here.’ Arthur’s voice was rough, as though he’d been silent awhile. He held out a cup to her.

Clem took it, taking a gulp of water and fighting the urge to cough as the water hit her dry throat. ‘You been there this whole time?’ She looked down at herself, suddenly aware that the last time she’d been conscious she was barely dressed. Somewhat relieved to find herself wearing a yellow shirt, she turned her attention back to Arthur.

‘Susan asked me to let her know when you woke up,’ he said, closing the book and placing it on the table next to his hat, dropping a pencil on the cover as he looked up at her.

‘ _Susan_?’ Clem repeated. ‘Seems a little… soft for her.’

Arthur chuckled at that. ‘She rougher than those bounty hunters?’ 

Clem winced, raising a hand to her ribs. ‘Reckon so.’

‘You feeling alright, Miss Clementine?’ Arthur asked, his eyes dropping to her side for a second.

Clem shot him a look. ‘It’s _Clem_. And you got me shot.’

‘Begging your pardon, miss, but you got _yourself_ shot. Now, you want another dose of the Reverend’s medicine? Failin’ that, I got this tea Hosea makes.’ He held up another cup. 

‘Tea,’ Clem said flatly.

‘’s what he generally gives me when I get shot,’ Arthur murmured, passing her a cup.

‘That happen a lot?’ Clem asked, raising the cup and pulling a face as a sickly-sweet smell assaulted her nose.

‘Reckon you’ll wanna drink it all in one go,’ Arthur said helpfully. 

Clem knocked the tea back, fighting not to gag at the taste. When she handed the cup back Arthur stood and raised a hand to her head, dodging when Clem tried to slap him away. ‘You ain’t feverish,’ he said, seemingly satisfied. He picked his hat up and set it on his head. ‘Reckon you should last the night.’

‘Sure,’ Clem nodded. ‘Where are you goin’?’ 

‘Got some errands to run.’

Clem yawned, surprising herself. ‘Its the middle of the night.’ 

‘This can’t wait,’ Arthur said, drawing a blanket up over her. ‘Besides,’ he said, his voice drifting back over his shoulder as he walked away. ‘Some idiot got herself shot and stole my bed.’

*

Clem awoke from dreams of thunderous hooves and masked men to a camp bathed in brilliant sunshine. Gingerly, she lifted her head, looking around the lean-to. Yesterday with her head swimming with pain and then the Reverend’s “medicine” she’d barely taken in much of her surroundings beyond the thinness of the cot beneath her. Now she was conscious enough to take a closer look what she found surprised her.

On the strength of their single meeting, she’d taken Arthur for a regular drifter, but the photos pinned up above her head told a different story. Even the camp wasn’t what she’d been expecting. It was bigger, for one thing, making her wonder just how many people Arthur rode with. And it was… homely, for want of a better word. There was even a kid wandering about the place. 

‘Miss Warren?’ The brunette was back, looking slightly less timid now that Miss Grimshaw was out of sight. ‘You feelin’ up to breakfast? Hosea asked me to bring you some. You want help sitting up?’

‘Thanks-’ Clem said, holding out a hand and giving the girl a questioning look.

The brunette smiled, taking Clem’s hand and helping her upright. ‘Mary-Beth.’ 

‘Clem.’ 

Mary-Beth handed her a bowl filled with porridge. ‘Arthur says it was his fault. You getting shot.’

‘He ain’t lyin’,’ Clem said, forcing herself to swallow what was basically flavourless gruel. ‘Almost ran me over with that damn horse of his too.’ 

Mary-Beth laughed. ‘Artemis? She’d never run anyone down unless Arthur wanted her to. She’s too smart for that!’

‘Hm,’ Clem hummed doubtfully. ‘You know whose shirt this is? Mine got ruined and I wanna pay them for it before I head out.’ 

‘Oh, you can’t leave!’ Mary-Beth gushed. ‘You're in no condition to-’

‘Don’t wanna take up Arthur’s bed.’

Mary-Beth shrugged. ‘He won’t mind.’ Mary-Beth blushed furiously. ‘I mean... he’s barely in it these days anyway. Not sure he even sleeps lately.’

Clem scraped the last of the porridge up. ‘Who are the folks in the pictures?’ she asked. 

‘Well, that’s Copper,’ Mary-Beth said, nodding towards the picture of a dog. She smiled. ‘Dumbest mutt I ever saw.’ She nodded to another picture, a portrait of three men. ‘That’s Dutch and Hosea, you met them last night. And Arthur of course. That's his daddy and this one’s his mama.’ The picture of Arthur’s mother was posed, taken in a portrait studio somewhere. Even so, the woman appeared to be smiling slightly, her light eyes amused.

His father’s picture was a mugshot. Lyle Morgan. Larceny. The man’s eyes were cold, staring out at Clem from under the hat his son still wore as though personally challenging her. 

_Morgan,_ she thought. _Arthur Morgan._ The name, coupled with the look in Lyle’s eyes had Clem’s blood running cold. 

‘You all right, Clem?’ Mary-Beth asked.

Realising she’d been silent a mite too long, Clem nodded. ‘And this one?’ she asked, nodding to the portrait of a young woman to distract Mary-Beth’s suddenly keen eye. Distantly she was aware of Mary-Beth’s hesitation before she spoke, Clem’s own thoughts following the track Lyle Morgan’s picture had put her on. 

‘That's Mary Gillis, as was. Mrs Linton now, I guess. She was -’

‘No better than she ought to be,’ Miss Grimshaw finished, bustling over and directing a look of disdain at Mary-Beth. ‘Miss Gaskill, I see you’re idlin’ and gossipin’ when you should be _working_.’

Mary-Beth stood quickly, bumping the table and almost knocking Arthur’s things flying. ‘Yes, Miss Grimshaw,’ she stammered, sending Clem an apologetic look before hurrying away.

‘Need to check your wound, Miss Warren,’ Miss Grimshaw said, taking Mary-Beth’s seat and watching as Clem lifted her blouse. She redressed the wound in silence, nodding just once when she saw the skin of Clem’s side wasn’t inflamed. 

‘You ain’t feverish, so it’s unlikely you’ll get an infection or gangrene,’ she said matter-of-factly, rising and wiping her hands on a cloth.

‘Arthur said as much,’ Clem said, her thoughts still elsewhere.

Miss Grimshaw barked a laugh, surprising Clem. ‘Mr Morgan ain’t exactly known for his doctorin’ abilities.’ As she turned to leave she fixed the picture of Mary Linton with a glare. ‘You strike me as a practical kind of woman, Miss Warren,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Smart, too.’

Clem’s brows knitted, trying to work out what the older woman was talking about. ‘Yes ma'am. I like to think so.’

‘Good,’ Miss Grimshaw nodded, speaking almost to herself. ‘God knows that boy needs someone smart and sensible around.’

Horrible realisation dawned on Clem and she scrambled to sit up, ignoring the flare of pain in her side. ‘Oh, we ain't -’

Miss Grimshaw turned, fixing her with a gimlet-eyed stare. ‘Ain't what?’

‘I mean…’ Clem faltered under the older woman’s scrutiny. What did it matter what she thought, anyway? ‘I just met him twice. He helped me out, that’s all.’

‘He does that,’ Miss Grimshaw said, her voice softening ever so slightly a moment before returning to its usual harshness. ‘And he brought you here, instead of to that doctor in Rhodes.’ 

Before Clem could speak, Miss Grimshaw looked up at the sound of someone approaching. ‘Speak of the devil.’ She raised her voice. ‘Arthur Morgan! You wash up good and proper before you come within ten feet of this tent!’ She bustled off again, heading straight for Arthur and shoving him none-too-gently in the direction of a wash bucket.

Finally alone, Clem reached into her pants pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. It was a bad likeness, but now she _knew_ she could see it. The man on the bounty poster was terrifying, the scars on his nose and chin more pronounced than in real life, the eyes cold, like his father’s. She’d only taken it for the novelty of the amount, not daring to think she was in any way equal to the task of bringing in a five-thousand-dollar bounty.

‘Miss Clementine.’ 

Clem shoved the poster back into her pocket, grimacing as the movement jarred her side and looked up to find Arthur watching her, his mother’s amusement written in his eyes. 

‘Careful, miss. Miss Grimshaw ain’t as gentle the second time she has to stitch you up.’ 

‘I-’ Clem said, her brain, still sluggish from the opium, struggling to merge the picture of the outlaw with the man standing in front of her. Arthur had clearly washed up by shoving his head into the water barrel. His hair, slightly longer now than in the poster, was dripping water onto his already wet shirt. 

Catching her looking, he swept a hand through his hair and shoved his hat on, tilting it so the brim shaded his eyes as though the sun had been bothering him. ‘Can you stand? Wanna show you somethin’,’ he murmured, holding out a hand and gently pulling her to her feet. 

Clem forced herself to walk unaided, despite the pain shooting its way down her side, making her head spin. When she swayed and knocked into the wooden table in the centre of the camp, Arthur rolled his eyes and took her arm, looping it through his.

‘I don’t need-’

‘Help,’ he said. ‘I know. But _I_ don’t need a lecture from Miss Grimshaw, neither. You’d be doing me a kindness, Miss Clementine.’

‘You ain’t scared of her, Arthur?’ Clem asked, surprising herself with the teasing tone in her own voice. 

He shot her a look, deadly serious. ‘Terrified. She once beat me with a switch for cursin’. Couldn’t sit a horse for a week.’

Clem snorted a laugh at that, but her response was stalled by the sight ahead of her. ‘You found her!’ 

Styx was hitched next to Arthur’s fox trotter, looking for all the world as though she’d been in a large camp around this many horses her whole life. Clem let go of Arthur’s arm and made the short journey to the horse, nuzzling into her side.

When she glanced at Arthur, Clem was surprised to find him blushing, head tipped down so his hat covered most of his face. ‘Weren't nothin’,’ he shrugged. ‘She was waiting for you good as gold not far from where we… bumped into one another.’ 

‘I'm surprised she came with you,’ Clem said. ‘She ain’t much of a one for strangers.’

‘Well…’ Arthur drawled. ‘We ain't strangers.’ He stepped forward, running a hand down the mare’s blaze in a manner that should have cost him his fingers. ‘’sides, bribery goes a long way,’ he added, holding a sugar cube aloft for the mare. 

His own horse wickered in annoyance and he gave a half-smile, turning and feeding her a sugar cube and murmuring something gentle, too low for Clem to catch.

Clem looked back up at Styx, moving around the horse and checking her things. ‘I should-’

‘Can’t leave yet,’ Arthur said. ‘Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Hosea agrees. And Dutch,’ he added, almost as an afterthought.

‘I’m fine,’ she ground out, annoyed these people had been talking about her behind her back.

‘You got shot. People as get shot generally like to rest up a bit.’

‘I can take care of myself, Arthur.’

‘I know that miss,’ he said, moving around the horse and resting his hands on his gunbelt. ‘Pretty impressive arsenal you got there,’ he added, nodding to the shotgun and rifle strapped to Styx’s saddle.

Clem smiled and reached into her saddlebag, withdrawing an ornately engraved volcanic pistol. She held it out to him. ‘It was my daddy’s,’ she said, watching as he took it, testing the weight.

Unconsciously, Arthur reached up and touched his hat before seeingly realising what he was doing and clearing his throat, returning his attention to the pistol, cocking it and looking down the sight. ‘You’ve kept it well.’

‘I use it a lot,’ she replied shortly. 

Arthur sighed and handed the pistol back, stepping forward until he was suddenly standing very close, making Clem tip her head back to hold his eyes. ‘Clem, please, let us help you.’

Hiding her surprise at hearing him use her name, Clem raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Why?’ she asked, keeping her voice low to match his.

‘I got you shot.’

‘So you admit it was your fault?’

‘Sure,’ he allowed. ‘Let me make it right.’

Clem opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a terrifying screech. ‘Miss Warren! Get away from them horses, you’re supposed to be resting!’

Clem turned to see Miss Grimshaw barrelling towards her. Looking for help, she turned back to find Arthur gone, seemingly melted away into the trees. ‘Damn coward,’ she muttered, turning and fixing Miss Grimshaw with her best approximation of a winsome smile.

*

The next couple of weeks passed slowly. Since she’d discovered Clem over by the horses, Miss Grimshaw had taken care to stop her leaving the cot for all but the shortest walks across camp, quelling Clem’s natural inclination to argue with a look that would have curdled milk. A few of the women had grumbled that they’d not received such treatment when they’d been sick until one called Abigail had pointedly asked when it was any of them had ever been shot. 

‘Besides,’ she’d added, somewhat unhelpfully in Clem’s opinion. ‘Arthur don’t want her gettin’ hurt again.’

The other women had snickered and gone back to their chores for the day, leaving Clem alone and bored as hell. Unable to help out, she’d taken to surreptitiously studying the gang, surprised to find that she knew one of them, an Irishman called Sean she’d done some work for over in West Elizabeth about a year ago. The rest… well, now that she’d placed Arthur she knew the two men who’d shown an interest in her on the first night. Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews. Business partners, brothers in arms. Notorious outlaws, both of them. 

Not that you’d guess it from the camp. Aside from the stories she heard drifting over from the campfire at night, they could have been any crew of displaced workers, looking to make a few bucks and move on.

Dutch mainly kept to his tent, watching over the camp with a proprietary air, cigar firmly in hand. During the day Clem would see him reading, sometimes calling people over to discuss what he’d read. 

Hosea had spent a little time with her, dropping into Arthur’s tent at least once a day to check up on her, whether of his own accord or at Arthur’s request she had no idea. Hosea had taken it upon himself to see Clem didn’t get too bored and to keep Miss Grimshaw at bay whenever Clem did manage to step outside, taking her arm and promenading around the camp more than once. As embarrassing as that was, Clem found herself grateful. 

The thick Lemoyne air gave the camp a sense of unhurried activity. Everyone except Clem seemed to have something to do, but no one seemed to be in a hurry about it, despite Miss Grimshaw’s best intentions. 

Arthur, in contrast, seemed to be almost constantly in motion, riding in and out of camp at all hours, dumping carcasses on the cook’s table and dropping money into the box kept by Dutch’s tent before disappearing again, most often alone.

On the rare occasions he was still she’d find him sitting by the fire late at night, shovelling spoonfuls of stew into his mouth or sitting and staring into the flames, listening to the rest of the gang. More often, she’d find him leaning against a fallen log out by the water, a leather-bound book in hand that he hastily snapped closed whenever anyone approached. 

She found herself seeking him out when he was over by the water, away from the noise and bluster of the gang. They were both happy to sit quietly, occasionally swapping stories of places they’d been. It seemed he collected strange stories, people and places that tended towards the odd. 

‘You look about healed,’ Miss Grimshaw said, snapping Clem out of her reverie.

‘Yeah?’ Clem asked, twisting to see her side. She looked up at Miss Grimshaw. ‘You do good work.’

The older woman smiled slightly and looked away. ‘Lord knows I get enough practice.’ She rolled the used bandages up and stood, leaving Clem to right her clothes before heading out into the camp.

She found Arthur down by the lake, watching the sun go down and writing in his journal. He looked up as she approached, predictably snapping the book closed. ‘Miss Grimshaw says you’re just about healed.’

‘Yeah,’ Clem said, ‘she’s done a good job of it too.’ 

She glanced back towards camp and Arthur followed the direction of her gaze to where Styx was hitched next to Artemis. ‘You’re thinking about moving on, I take it?’ he said, raising a hand and lazily scratching his chin.

Clem shrugged, sitting down on the log he was leaning against and looking out over the water. ‘Can’t stay here forever.’

‘Guess not,’ Arthur said.

He seemed to be waiting for something more, so Clem cast about for something to say. ‘I ain’t got much to pay you all with.’

‘You don’t owe us nothin’, Miss Clementine,’ he said, waving a hand dismissively.

‘Clem. And Dutch don’t strike me as the sort to provide bed and board free of charge,’ she said doubtfully. 

‘He ain’t,’ Arthur said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke skyward. ‘I took care of it.’

‘Arthur…’

‘It was nothin’, Clem,’ he said. 

Clem stared at the side of his face a moment, unsure how to proceed. That explained his constant rushing about, then. He’d been working double to pay off whatever debt Dutch decided she’d incurred. The idea of the outlaw, the killer worth five thousand dollars, was even harder to fit over the image of him now, sitting staring out over the lake, journal in hand. 

Thankfully Arthur spoke again. ‘When d’you wanna head out?’

‘I was thinkin’ tomorrow,’ she admitted. ‘Gonna head into Rhodes for supplies then I got business over in Tall Trees.’ She paused, then ploughed ahead. ‘Arthur, I-’

He stood suddenly, cutting her off. ‘I’ll ride with you a ways.’ He ground the cigarette out under his boot. ‘G’night, Miss,’ he added, tipping his hat to her and heading into camp. 

*

Clem just after first light to find Arthur had already completed his share of camp chores for the day. Casting her eyes about, she found him over by the horses, brushing Artemis down. He’d clearly already worked on Styx, Clem could see the mare’s coat shining from here. 

‘You’re up early, my dear.’

Clem turned to find Hosea watching her from just outside Arthur’s tent. ‘So are you,’ she said.

‘One of the good things about being old,’ he smiled. ‘Or one of the bad things, I’m not entirely sure which. I hear you’re leaving us today?’

Clem nodded. ‘I got business to attend to.’

Hosea tilted his head to one side. ‘Can be dangerous out there, for a woman alone,’ he said, reminding Clem of the first time she’d met Arthur. 

‘I do okay,’ she said, much as she had then, although her tone was a little softer. She couldn’t help liking Hosea. 

He smiled. ‘Fair enough.’ He took her hand, shaking it and holding her eye with the steady, honest gaze of a born conman. ‘Take care, Miss Warren.’ As he made to leave he paused, turning back. ‘If you ever do want to get in touch with… us… write to Tacitus Kilgore. I’m sure _we’ll_ come running.’ 

Clem stared after him as he moved off in the direction of the coffee pot, wincing as he stretched and his back cracked audibly. Shaking herself clear of the mood that had settled on her shoulders, she rose, picking up her hat and setting it on her head before heading over to Arthur and the horses. 

*

They rode slowly towards Rhodes, Clem telling herself there was no sense pushing Styx when she had a long ride ahead. And they rode in mostly in silence. Clem tried a couple of times to start a conversation, but she wasn’t the most talkative at the best of times and Arthur seemed shut up like a veritable clam.

He was wearing his deputy’s badge, she saw. Tilly had explained it to her but it still made no sense. She’d been in Rhodes before, back when the Sheriff still paid bounty hunters, and while the people here were dumb as rocks, they weren’t to be idly messed with. They’d close ranks on an outsider quicker than you could spit. 

She shrugged the thought off, surely they knew what they were doing. This wasn’t exactly their first time conning someone, she suspected, although a whole town seemed a little ambitious, even from what she’d heard about Dutch Van de Linde.

When they reached the gunsmith, Arthur helped her down from her horse. 

‘I guess this is where we part ways,’ she said, trying to read his expression under his hat. 

‘Guess so,’ he said. He looked straight at her suddenly, blue eyes holding her own grey ones for a long moment. Clem opened her mouth, ready to speak but with nothing much to say. Arthur got there first. ‘You take care, miss,’ he said, stepping back from her and moving towards his horse. 

‘See you around,’ she said. 

He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Don’t think that’s somethin’ you ought to be lookin’ for, Miss Clementine.’

Against all reason, Clem was stung. ‘Yeah, well, you’ve been wrong before Arthur Morgan.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ he snapped, annoyed. ‘What about this time?’

Later, she wasn’t sure what made her say it. It was stupid, and she usually didn’t go in for stupid. It must have been his silence on the ride over, the niggling feeling that there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. ‘I did see you in Blackwater. Picture of you anyhow.’ 

He wheeled around at that, stalking over and towering over her. Ths shiny, _shiny_ badge on his chest caught the sun as he grabbed her arm and dragged her behind the coffin maker's shop. 

And there he was suddenly, standing far too close to her in an alley in a dusty shitheap of a town, the thief, the killer, the five-thousand-dollar bounty. Arthur Morgan: outlaw. 

‘That ain’t exactly somethin’ you want to go yellin’ about in a public street, miss,’ he growled, his tone the one he’d used on the bounty hunters all weeks ago. ‘Ain’t somethin’ you should be talkin’ about at all, in point of fact.’

Clem snatched her arm out of his grip, glaring up at him. ‘I ain’t _yellin’,_ ’ she snapped. ‘And I ain’t gonna tell no one neither. You forget my situation when we first met?’ She rubbed at the red mark on her arm. When he didn’t speak she looked up at him, saw his eyes fixed on her arm with something akin to horror creeping into his eyes. 

Arthur shook his head, seemingly to clear it. ‘You just make sure you keep that to yourself is all,’ he said, his voice returning to normal. ‘There’s a lot of good people would get hurt if the law came down on us.’

‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ Clem said, working to keep her voice cold in the hope that he wouldn’t hear what it was she actually seemed to be saying. 

No such luck. Arthur’s eyes snapped to hers, wide with surprise before narrowing in suspicion. ‘Clem-’

She didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say, everything in her was screaming at her to get _gone_. ‘Goodbye, Arthur,’ she said, stepping back. ‘Look after yourself.’ At that she turned on her heel, heading back to the main street and into the gunsmith. Minutes later she heard hooves thundering through the dust and watched Artemis streak by the window, heading east out of town. 


	3. Shady Belle

‘You  _ threatenin’ _ me, you pissant?’

The words were growled rather than spoken, the threat creeping its way up Clem’s spine. She’d slid from her horse and was heading around the side of the saloon towards the sound of the fight before she was aware she’d made a decision. She  _ knew _ that voice. 

As she rounded the saloon she was greeted by the sight of Arthur Morgan briefly stumbling backwards before charging forward, grabbing the man who had punched him by the throat. Another man was just getting up from the ground, eyes fixed on Arthur. 

The men were Raiders, by the looks of them, which explained why the fine citizens of Rhodes were carefully ignoring the fight. As Clem watched, Arthur managed to land a couple of what looked like pretty solid blows on his opponent before the other Raider grabbed him by the shoulder and socked him in the mouth, hard. 

Clem winced as Arthur reeled back, spitting blood into the dust and turning his attention to the other Raider, grabbing hold of the man and lifting him bodily, sending him flying into the side of a wagon and knocking him unconscious. His previous assailant, clearly taking exception to this, drew his gun and started towards Arthur. 

Clem drew her pistol, cocking it loudly as she aimed it at the Raider’s head. ‘You wanna put that down, mister.’

Arthur wheeled around, barely sparing the frozen Raider a glance. ‘The hell you doing, woman?’ 

‘Save them as need savin’, you said.’ She stepped forward, tapping the Raider on the shoulder with the barrel of her pistol. ‘Get your friend and get goin’ or there’s gonna be a whole lot of bloodshed here.’ she ordered, keeping her gun trained on the man as he picked up his unconscious friend and sidled away. 

‘You could have gotten yourself killed,’ Arthur growled, bending and snatching his hat from the ground and ramming it on his head.

‘I could say the same about you!’ Clem snapped. ‘What are you doing picking fights with Raiders?’

‘I can take care of myself,’ he said, turning and starting to walk away. 

Clem shoved the pistol back into her holster and grabbed his arm, yanking him back around to face her. ‘This town don’t like strangers, Arthur. It especially don’t like Yankees like you throwing your weight around. I heard a couple weeks back a few guys damn near shot this place to hell because they got into it with the locals and -’

He looked away, his jaw clenched. 

Clem’s mouth hung open as the penny dropped. ‘That was you?’

‘I ain’t gotta answer to you,’ he growled, yanking his arm free. He turned on his heel and stormed off in the direction of the saloon. 

‘Where are you goin’?’ Clem yelled. ‘We ain’t done, Arthur Morgan!’

‘To take a bath. Best you’re gone before I get back.’

Clem glared at his back. The man was infuriating. Would serve him right if she left him to wallow in his own self-pity. Or…

_ Or _ she could stay just long enough to give him a piece of her mind and  _ then _ go. She gathered Styx’s reins and walked her around the saloon, hitching her next to Artemis. He seemed to like horses, no way he’d miss Styx standing out here. 

She left a message with the bartender and paid for a room for the night. Arthur could  _ keep _ the damn room. He’d looked exhausted enough to collapse and there was no way she was staying here any longer than it took to let him know exactly what she thought of him. By rights she shouldn’t even  _ be _ here. She hated this town, the dust and the humidity making her long for the cooler climes of Big Valley or the dry heat of New Austin. She’d only come here to… well… 

Clem dropped onto the bed. Because that’s where her thinking got squirrely. She could hunt bounties anywhere, but she’d come all the way out to Lemoyne - to goddamn  _ Rhodes _ \- to do it. The new sheriff here didn’t even pay well, and it’d be a cold day in hell before she set foot in Saint Denis. 

Fact was, this was the last place she’d seen him and she’d been drawn here to... thank him? Yeah. That sounded good. After their fight he’d stormed off and so she’d come to thank him properly for saving her life. Lucky for him, too, because it turned out he’d needed saving. 

Ungrateful sonuvabitch.

Clem fully intended to sit and boil in her own rage until he came back so she could give him a piece of her mind, but then the bed was soft and it had been months since she'd slept on anything but a bedroll. Even her time getting patched up in the Van der Linde camp had been spent on Arthur’s cot, which couldn’t be called soft by any stretch of the imagination. 

The sound of the door closing none too softly jerked Clem awake. Darkness had fallen and as her eyes adjusted she could just make out Arthur’s shadow, a darker patch against the darkness of the room.

‘I told you to get gone, woman,’ the outlaw growled.

‘Why are you in here, then?’

‘Bartender told me my  _ wife _ had booked us a room for the night. Figured I got a bad enough reputation in this town without adding abandonment to it.’ He sighed, the sound world-weary in the darkness. ‘Why are you doin’ this?’ 

Hearing the exhaustion in his voice, Clem bit back her anger and settled for the truth. ‘Wanted to make sure you were all right,’ she said quietly. 

He sighed again and when he next spoke his voice was softer. ‘You don’t want to be worryin’ about me, miss.’ 

A thousand responses flitted through Clem’s head. ‘Sit down,’ she said instead. When he didn't move she shifted slightly on the bed, making room and patting the eiderdown. ‘Dammit, Arthur. Sit down before you fall down.’

He finally moved across the room, sitting uneasily on the edge of the bed. Outside the clouds shifted and moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating his face.

‘Shit,’ Clem said frankly. 

‘Sounds about right,’ he said wryly, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, ducking his head so his hat covered his face in shadow.

No matter, Clem had already seen as much as she needed to. The bath had cleaned the worst of the blood and dust away, but couldn’t do anything about the black eye, nor the split lip which was bleeding again, she saw. Clem shuffled off the bed, freeing her bandana from around her neck and dunking it in the washbasin. As she wrung it out she knelt in front of him, reaching up and removing his hat, dropping it onto the nightstand. 

‘Miss Clementine-’

Ignoring him, she raised the cloth to his face, gently wiping it over his lip. He stared at her impassively as she worked, his eyes boring into her in the half-light filtering through the grimy window. Clem refused to react to his scrutiny, instead focusing her own gaze on the mess the Raiders had made of his face. 

‘I went back to Clemens Point,’ she said, keeping her tone as light as she could.

He cleared his throat, looking away. ‘We ain’t there no more.’ 

Clem rolled her eyes. ‘I gathered that.’ She gripped his chin and brought his face back around so she could look at it. ‘You leave ‘cause of that fight with the Grays?’ 

‘Weren’t a fight so much as a bloodbath,’ he said quietly. ‘They killed Sean.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, meaning it. ‘Is everyone else all-’ As she spoke, she ran the cloth over his lip again and he hissed in discomfort, making Clem snatch her hand back. 

Arthur caught her wrist, his eyes tracking over the tension in her jaw. ‘Don’t you worry too much on my account, Miss Clementine,’ he drawled. ‘Never was much to look at.’ 

Before Clem could pry her hand free from his fingers the clouds drifted again, sinking the room into darkness. In the dark Clem’s breathing felt overloud, Arthur’s presence too close. 

‘You shouldn’ta come lookin’ for me, Clem,’ Arthur said softly, his fingers loosening on her wrist but not entirely letting go. ‘Ain’t safe.’ 

‘Who says I was looking for you?’ she asked, keeping her voice low to match his and praying he couldn’t feel her heartbeat in her wrist. 

‘You sayin’ you weren’t?’ Clem was silent a moment, panic clawing its way up from her chest. Then he sighed, his breath ghosting over her fingers. He released her hand, straightening. ‘You don’t owe me nothin’, Miss Clementine,’ he said, his voice returning to its normal gruff tone.

Clem huffed out her own breath in surprise. ‘That’s why you think I was lookin’ for you? Payback?

‘Why else?’

Clem stared at the patch of darkness she knew to be the outlaw, at a loss for what to say. She’d never been much good with words. After her daddy died she hadn’t needed a great many of the damn things. Bounties weren’t great conversationalists and for the other side of things… it was usually better when the folk she was robbing didn't know she  _ was _ a she, so silent threats worked best. 

Swallowing hard past the feeling she should run, she dropped the damp bandana to the floor and raised her hand, laying it against his cheek. Not being able to see him, her other senses seemed keen to drink in as much else as possible. The stubble pressing into her palm sent skitters of warmth down her arm. This close she could smell him, soap from the bath, leather and old gunsmoke combining to make the smell she’d spent her days in camp surrounded by. It had been in her hair and her clothes days after she’d left, she remembered. When she’d realised it was gone she’d felt … homesick. 

She wondered if that was when she’d decided she needed to find him again. Just to thank him. Just to be sure he was all right.

‘What-’

Clem leaned forwards and upwards, gently pressing her lips to his and forestalling whatever questions he had. Arthur froze as she kissed him, she felt the eiderdown move as he fisted his hands in it, his whole body going rigid. 

Undeterred, Clem tilted her head slightly, using the hand on his cheek to tilt him too and deepening the kiss. Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath ghosting over her face as he finally relaxed, his own hands coming up to frame her face. 

After a few moments, he pushed her back slightly, gaining enough distance to look her in the eyes. ‘You don’t want to do this, Clem. Not with me.’ He looked uneasy, she realised, his eyes wary even as they tracked over her face, searching for some idea of what it was she was thinking.

‘I ain’t a child, Arthur. And I ain’t no shrinking violet neither. I know what I want.’

‘If this is your way of thankin’ me-’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, the sting taken out of the words by her hand sliding itself into his hair. 

Arthur’s eyes fell closed. ‘Miss Clementine -’

Clem got to her feet. ‘It’s  _ Clem _ . You say it well enough when you want to, so I know you can.’ She sighed, annoyed at herself now. ‘I’m not trying to thank you. I ain’t like that.’

‘I don’t think you’re like that,’ Arthur said quietly. ‘But a man like me…’ he trailed off, eyes fixed on his hands. 

‘A man like you what?’ she asked. When he didn’t answer she rolled her eyes, aware it was ridiculous, dark as it was and him not even looking at her. ‘Look, Arthur, it’s okay. You ain’t interested. I’ll just go and we can pretend this never happened.’

Arthur stood, towering over her suddenly in the small room and reaching for her arm. He drew her closer until there was almost nothing between them, even air. ‘That ain’t it, Clem. That ain’t it at all,’ he murmured, tilting her head back until he could kiss her. 

*

The sun was just up when Clem woke, her head pillowed on Arthur’s arm. A glance over her shoulder told her the man himself was still asleep behind her, his other arm heavy over her waist. 

Moving slowly so as not to wake him, Clem turned in the bed. The dirty dawn light afforded her a better look at Arthur’s face than she’d been able to get last night. The black eye was nasty, already starting to yellow at the edges. Clem ran a finger over the cut on his lip. There had been times last night when she’d tasted his blood in her mouth but the thought that he was hurt, that they should stop, had seemed so very far away at the time. 

‘Stop staring at me, woman. Tryna sleep.’

Clem laughed, rolling onto her back and reaching for his hat. ‘Why do you wear this?’ she asked, turning it over in her hands. ‘It’s your pa’s hat, ain’t it?’

Arthur opened one eye before reaching out and taking the hat from her, dropping it on the floor. ‘It reminds me,’ he said. 

‘Reminds you of what?’ Clem asked, rolling again so she could lay her head on his chest. 

Arthur hesitated before looping his arm around her shoulders. ‘My pa was a thief and a bully and I ain’t no better.’

After a moment’s silence, Clem said quietly, ‘I ain’t scared of you, Arthur.’

‘You don’t know what it is, Clem, a life like mine.’

‘My daddy ran shine,’ Clem said, surprised at herself. She plunged ahead. ‘Was pretty good at it. Ain’t exactly a thing that’ll keep you on the right side of the law. My mama died birthin’ me and daddy raised me up in the family business. Taught me my numbers and letters. Ridin’ and shootin’ too, like I was a son. They killed him when I was seventeen. Been on my own pretty much ever since, doing what I had to. Bounty catchin’, hold-ups, killed a few men needed killin’. Killed a few as didn’t.’ 

‘I meant what I said last night, Clem. I’m not a good man. You shouldn’t get mixed up with me.’

Clem shifted so she could glare up at him. ‘You listenin’ to me, Arthur? I’m not a good woman. Not entirely, anyways. And you ain’t entirely bad.’ She paused. ‘I watched you when I was in your camp. I wanted to see the man on the bounty poster but he weren’t there. Five thousand dollars on your head and all I saw was you carrying horse feed, drawin’ in that damn book of yours, bringin’ in meat for Pearson’s godawful stew.’

‘That’s family...’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, now, would I?’ She rested her head on his chest again, drawing her hand up his side and watching as goosebumps broke out in the wake of her fingertips. ‘You saved me.’

‘You're-’

‘Ain’t just me, neither. I hear you help a whole lotta people.’ 

He shifted slightly beneath her, craning his neck so he could look at her. ‘Where’d you get an idea like that?’

‘Hosea. The man talks about you like you’re his firstborn son. When he ain’t cussin’ you out over being blockheaded and stubborn.’

Arthur snorted at that, running a hand down her spine and back up again. ‘Hosea ain’t exactly what you might call impartial.’

‘It ever occur to you that neither are you?’ Clem said. 

‘I’m serious, Clem. Everything I touch I destroy.’

Clem shifted until she was lying on top of Arthur, watching his eyes darken despite the doubt she could still see in his face. ‘I ain’t destroyed yet…’

*

They finally left the room at twilight, Arthur throwing some cash to the bartender to cover the extra time before holding the saloon doors open so Clem could precede him down the steps. 

At the horses, Arthur fed Styx and then Artemis a sugar lump each from a paper bag he shoved back into his satchel. ‘Where you headin’ now?’ he asked.

‘Back to New Hanover,’ Clem said, checking her saddle straps. ‘Got some work over that way.’ She turned to find him standing close behind her, watching her from under his hat. He looked almost… nervous. She felt her own nerves crackle in response. They’d not talked about what happened now. Not talked about much of anything after dawn, if she was honest. ‘I ain’t askin’ you for nothin’, Arthur,’ she said, putting her hat on and tucking her hair into it as best she could. ‘I know you got an… understanding. With that Mary Linton, I mean.’ 

The part of his face she could see looked surprised. ‘I ain’t got… who told you about Mary?’

‘Mary-Beth.’

‘Uh huh,’ Arthur said, kicking at the dust. He looked up and met her eyes finally, his own sharp under the brim of his hat. ‘You spend all your time in camp gossipin’ about me?’

To her horror, Clem felt herself blushing and looked away. ‘No, I-’

Arthur reached out and took her hand, drawing her close and kissing her. ‘I already told you I think you’ve lost your mind, taking up with a no-good outlaw like you have, Miss Clementine,’ he said, smirking when she rolled her eyes. ‘But maybe we could have our own… understanding.’

‘I’d like that,’ Clem said, appalled at how quickly she spoke. 

Arthur nodded. ‘God knows it ain’t anything like a good idea, but I don’t seem to be able to get alongside the notion of not seeing you again. I’d ask you to come with me, but…’

‘You know I won’t,’ Clem said softly. 

He nodded, apparently unfazed. ‘You won’t and you shouldn’t. Things ain’t good for us right now, and, well… Dutch thinks you distract me.’ At Clem’s raised eyebrow he went on quickly. ‘First I missed an appointment for Strauss, helping you out of that bounty hunter situation, then I stayed close to camp when you were shot, instead of going out on jobs.’ He caught her looking at him and coloured, the flush only just visible in the dying light. ‘Only the first coupla days.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Wanted to make sure you were okay.’

‘Well. you did get me shot,’ Clem said, playfully. ‘’s only fair.’ She paused a moment before pushing on. ‘So I’ll see you again?’

‘Soon. Need to work out how we’re going to get ourselves out of Lemoyne first. But I’ll tell you if we move on.’ Arthur shook his head, seemingly thinking better of that. ‘I’ll come and  _ find _ you. In the meantime, you need me you write to Tacitus-’

‘Kilgore, I know. Hosea told me.’

Arthur rolled his eyes and released her, stepping back so he could lift her into her saddle. ‘Startin’ to think there’s nothin’ Hosea  _ ain’t _ told you.’

She smirked down at him. ‘You’re a gentleman, Mr Morgan.’

‘I think we both know that ain’t true,’ Arthur said, stepping back and watching as she urged Styx into a trot, heading out of Rhodes and into the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a series of vignettes following the course of the game. Any feedback is heartily welcomed!


End file.
